


Belonging

by Laylah



Category: Baccano!
Genre: F/M, Gunkink, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ah, you've been so good, Lua," he says, "waiting for me, waiting like this, and now that I'm home you want to celebrate, of course." He smiles, the kindest expression she's ever seen, and leans down for a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

Some nights Ladd takes her out places with him, to fancy restaurants or jazz clubs or to the moving pictures. Everyone says what a lovely couple they make, as long as Lua keeps her gloves and her shawl on. It's nice to feel so important, to watch people trying to please them, to please Ladd.

Other nights Ladd goes out without here, takes his knife and his shotgun and tells her to be good, to wait quietly until he comes home. Lua thinks she might like those nights even better. She bathes, after dinner, and puts on one of her nicest dresses. Ladd has bought her such pretty ones. She puts up her hair and paints her face, carefully. If she had heavy bruises she would try to conceal those, too, because it's better if she's untouched when he comes home. But tonight there are only a few faint marks left on her throat, and in the warm light of his room they won't show at all. Lua makes herself presentable and waits, quiet, patient. Time is a dreamy, slippery thing when Ladd isn't there to make it move.

It's late when the door opens down the hall; Lua has the bedside lamp lit, but its light is dim enough that she's been watching the moon rise above the skyline outside. She sits up a little straighter in her chair when she hears the door, tugging at the seams of her gloves to straighten them. Everything should be in order when Ladd comes to tear it down.

"Lua," he calls as he comes down the hall, almost singing her name. She rises to her feet. "Did you miss me, Lua?" He stops in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his shotgun over his shoulder. His tie is crooked, his jacket splashed with blood, his smile bright.

"Of course," Lua says. Her smile is proper, demure, the way a lady's smile ought to be.

Ladd crosses the room to her in three bold steps, catching her around the waist with his free hand to pull her close. "Of course, my sweet Lua," he says, murmuring the words into her hair. "It must be so boring for you, when I'm not here, not with you, Lua. I can't possibly kill you when I'm not with you."

Lua twines her arms around his neck and leans against his solid heat. "You're here now," she says. He smells like blood and gunpowder, like sweat and sex. A little shiver runs down her spine, and she can feel the beat of blood between her legs.

"That's right," Ladd croons, "I'm here now, here with you, my pretty Lua. You don't have to worry anymore."

She doesn't worry. There's nobody in all of Chicago who's a match for Ladd. She tilts her head back, so she can meet his eyes, so her throat is bared. "Ladd."

"Ah, you've been so good, Lua," he says, "waiting for me, waiting like this, and now that I'm home you want to celebrate, of course." He smiles, the kindest expression she's ever seen, and leans down for a kiss. Lua arches her back, leans willingly into the strength of his arm. Something cold touches her calf, below the hem of her dress, and she startles --

But it's Ladd's gun, sliding up the inside of her leg, steel against the silk of her stocking. Her body feels alive and trembling, sensitive all over, brought to life by his touch. His mouth is hot against hers, and the barrel of his gun so cold, pushing up her skirt, past the tops of her stockings all the way up to -- Lua whimpers when the barrel presses between her legs. She's bare there, the only impropriety she's taken -- and it's for him, because _she's_ for him, no part of her held back, so when he wants her there's nothing to stop him at all.

The steel is so cold there, where she's hottest, sensitive and swollen already, slick as she tilts her hips to let him press harder, and he pulls back from the kiss with his eyes bright and fascinated. "Oh?" he says. "Like this, Lua? You like this?"

She nods once, clinging to his broad shoulders. Ladd pushes, rocks the barrel of the gun between her thighs. It makes her shiver, makes her gasp, her own wetness slippery against the smooth steel.

"You're so good to me, Lua," Ladd says. "You give me everything I want, my pretty Lua." He takes a step forward, so she has to stumble backward to match him -- as if they're dancing, the way he moves her, the way he pushes her back toward the bed, and she follows his lead as best she can with his gun grinding against her flesh at every step she takes. "Show me," he says as he pushes her down onto the bed. "Let me see what you're doing, Lua."

She gathers up her skirts in her hands and lifts them, pulling up the fabric to bunch around her waist so he can see: the white lace tops of her stockings, the garter straps holding them in place, the blue-black steel of his gun flush against the golden curls between her thighs. "Ladd," she whispers, "please."

He hums, smiles at her as he rocks the gun against her flesh. "Yes," he says, "yes, you want it, you love me so much, Lua -- ah, and that's going to make it so perfect when I kill you! My sweet Lua, the only one who understands me so well."

Her cheeks are growing hot, and she rocks against his gun shamelessly. For him she is no lady, however nicely he might dress her. The things he says -- the things he does -- the barrel of his gun is warming between her thighs, and she pushes against it, each little motion another tiny explosion between her legs, feeling shuddering through her veins the way it never does except when he's here, with her, making her --

The peak is inevitable as death, stealing her breath away and leaving her shivering and weak before him. When he kills her she imagines he'll feel like this afterward, spent and complete. Her legs relax, fall open, and he shifts then, pushes the gun down further so the end of the barrel nudges just inside her. He watches her, like he's waiting for her to protest, but Lua holds still. Perhaps he plans to kill her now. Like this. She won't fight, if that's what he wants.

"Such a sweet girl, my Lua," he says. He lifts his gun and the barrel shines with her fluids. Ladd brings the gun up and licks her wetness from the steel. "You know how easy it would be, don't you?" he says, leveling it at her, aiming right between her breasts. "You know how quickly I could kill you."

Lua nods. Her heart still pounds, but she feels calm. "I know," she says. "And it's all right."

Ladd tosses the gun away, and it hits the carpet with a thud. "Not yet, my sweet Lua, not yet," he says. "I want it to be perfect when I kill you, want it to be beautiful." He reaches for the buttons of his trousers, plants a knee on the bed between her thighs like he wants to be sure she keeps them spread. There's nothing else she _could_ do, if he wants her. "I'll make it worth waiting for, Lua," he promises as he kneels above her. "I'll make it glorious."

"Thank you," Lua murmurs, and reaches up to wrap her arms around his shoulders as his cock presses slowly into her. He's big enough that it always burns, at first, and she breathes her soft cry of pain against the stubble-roughened line of his jaw. He shivers, and pushes in deeper.

"Just like that, my Lua," he croons, filling her. "Just like that, you give yourself to me, sweet Lua, you know how much I love you, don't you?"

Lua nods, eyes closed, holding on to him as he splays one hand over the stocking seam on the back of her thigh and pushes, forcing her further open. Yes, she knows, and it's good: that he wants all of her, that she belongs entirely to him, that even her death is in his hands. His love, his strength, his hunger for her is a power she can't resist. She surrenders with every breath and he possesses her with every stroke and it could be no other way than this.

He doesn't speak once he's found his rhythm, just purrs and growls his pleasure into the fall of her hair -- her softness robs him of speech, draws out the brute in him, and she'll have new bruises from his fingers digging into her flesh. But that's fine, that's right, when he's so bright and savage -- each little hurt is a reminder that one day he'll take everything she has to give, and she's trembling tight around him by the time he stills above her.

"Ah, Lua, you're so good for me," he says, leaning back enough to look her in the eyes. "You make me feel so calm, so relaxed." He smiles at her, the gentle smile that leaves her completely undone -- and then his brow furrows. "What's this?" he says, reaching up, brushing his fingertips against the corner of her eye. "You're crying?"

"I'm happy," Lua says, and her voice is thick. "I'm happy, Ladd." She leans up, offering her mouth; he kisses her, and Lua knows this is where she belongs.


End file.
